


Three Years

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, but not exactly canon divergent?, in the future, ish, mix of angst and fluff, not quite AU, pretty much everything tbd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6524194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been three years since he’d seen Jemma Simmons. Three years ago, terrible powers even they, even Nick Fury and the Avengers couldn’t contain had wreaked havoc upon SHIELD. To survive, to save what little he could of their lives and their futures, Coulson had splintered the team, sending individual members around the world to start new lives. No promises were made but each agent left with the understanding that some day, if it became possible or necessary once again, they could be called upon to assist the lingering threads of the agency. </p><p>Three years later, Fitz moves in across the hall from Jemma...but things are complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reunion

“Laundry’s in the basement, but if the weather’s nice some folks hang it up outside, which is free of course -- laundry’s not free, I forget if I mentioned that--” 

“I think you did, yeah,” Fitz said distractedly as his new landlord helped him unload a set of boxes from his car. His only set of boxes, really -- after moving around so much, he’d let go of most of the keepsakes. 

“Well, it was a real shame you couldn’t come visit the place so I tried to give you all the information I could, I’m just glad it worked out.” 

“Third floor, you said?” Fitz tried to lean the boxes against his chest and almost dropped them all.

“Here, I’ll show ya.” The landlord grabbed the top box and breezed around the corner of the little apartment building to the front entrance. 

“You don’t have to-” Fitz called after him.

_“Leopold Fitz?”_

Looking up, Fitz saw only a pair of flip-flop feet dangling through the rails of the fire escape a few stories up. “Sorry?” 

The toes clenched to grip the flip-flops, flashing neon orange nail polish, and their owner stood up, clutching a floppy sunhat on her head. 

Fitz gawped. 

“You kids know each other?” the landlord asked, too eagerly. 

“I-” But the landlord had already plunged into the air-conditioned lobby and Fitz scrambled to follow him. They crammed into a minuscule and dimly-lit elevator and the landlord kept up a constant chatter about the amenities of the building; Fitz schooled his face into casual interest, mind racing. 

It had been three years since he’d seen Jemma Simmons. Three years ago, terrible powers even they, even Nick Fury and the Avengers couldn’t contain had wreaked havoc upon SHIELD. To survive, to save what little he could of their lives and their futures, Coulson had splintered the team, sending individual members around the world to start anew. No promises were made but each agent left with the understanding that some day, if it became possible or necessary once again, they could be called upon to assist the lingering threads of the agency. 

Three years ago, Fitz and Jemma had stood on the line between friends and something more. It was a wild, exhilarating, confusing time for them both, to finally both be in the same emotional place, but before they had a chance to even discuss the possibility, Jemma had been flown to an undisclosed location in Europe and Fitz was packing his bags for California. This was his fifth new apartment. 

The landlord was waving him down the narrow hallway. “Just -- down -- here--” He took a key from his pocket and waved it at Fitz. “Got your set this morning--” Jiggling it in the doorknob of an apartment on the right, he cursed and dropped Fitz’s box. “Hang on, I could’ve sworn this was the right one-” 

The door across the hall opened. Jemma stepped out and leaned against the doorframe, grinning at Fitz, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a sundress, something Fitz had almost never seen in their time with SHIELD, and that ridiculous floppy hat. Fitz realized he was wearing a beanie and scrambled to pull it off his head, feeling like an imposter. 

“Well, I’ll be!” Jemma exclaimed. “If it isn’t Leo Fitz.” 

The landlord stopped in his efforts and twisted to look at her. “Kid didn’t tell me he knew someone who lived here.” 

“Judging from his face, he didn’t know either, did you, Leo?” 

Fitz opened his mouth, but Jemma ploughed on. 

“We went to university together, Ernie. I haven’t seen Leo in -- what is it now--”

“Three years,” Fitz ground out. 

“You stopped coming to reunions! I haven’t seen you in ages.” 

“I...haven’t been getting the emails?” he stuttered, bewildered.

“Well, that explains it, doesn’t it, Ernie?” The landlord seemed to realize he had been staring and he turned to try the lock anew. “You must be beyond all that now, Leo -- if I remember correctly you were headed for quite an auspicious career -- but if you’re interested, I’m still in touch with Skyler, I can have her update your contact information so you don’t miss any future events. We’ve missed you something terrible.” 

Ah, there it was. It was too much of a coincidence, her choosing the name Skyler, and he understood at once. 

“That’d be great. You, uh, you live here?” 

“Right across the hall from you, apparently! Neighbors!” She slapped his shoulder jovially. 

“There you are!” The door to Fitz’s apartment swung open at last and Ernie tumbled inside. “Come on, then, Mr. Fitz.” 

Fitz gave Jemma an apologetic glance but she just smiled and disappeared into her own apartment - though leaving the door open, Fitz noticed. He followed Ernie in to begin unpacking. 

~~

Jemma leaned against the back of her couch, chewing on a nail as she watched Fitz through both their open doors. Ernie had left several minutes ago, and still Jemma couldn’t find the courage to cross the hall. She hoped Fitz had understood what she had so poorly attempted to communicate -- if not the message itself, at least the sentiment. _Not here, not now._

All in all, she was rather proud of herself for the ease with which she’d enacted their reunion. Nothing in her behavior had belied the constriction in her chest when she heard his voice as she relaxed on the fire escape; her breezy smile never suggested for a moment that his smell, his Fitz smell as it filled the hallway, brought her back with a violent jerk to a past lifetime. He would never believe her if she told him that this came as as much a surprise to her as it obviously did to him -- as talented a spy as Fitz had become, he’d always been out of his depth when it came to acting. 

He was moving around his apartment, unpacking his few boxes, studiously not looking at her. Too obvious. She scrunched her sunhat in her hands and took a deep breath, then very purposefully went to put on a record. 

~~

Fitz looked up as the music started playing and froze as Jemma crossed the hall, flip-flops announcing her approach. He slowly set his electronics repair kit back into the box and straightened. Jemma stopped a few feet in front of him, hands clasped in front of her -- such a _Jemma_ way to stand. 

“Hi, Leo.” 

“Why d’you keep-” 

“So what you have been up to since graduation?” 

“What? I--” He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Just - bouncing here and there, you know. Haven’t really found steady employment.” She was being unbearably distant -- he could understand that they wouldn’t be in synch, having not seen each other in, what, over a thousand days now, but this? There was no ebb and flow to their conversation, just superficial shadows of recognition. “You look different,” he blurted out. 

“And you haven’t changed a bit,” she said softly, almost -- he wanted to let himself believe -- affectionately. 

“I didn’t mean bad different -- you still look like Jemma -- like Simmons -- but --”

“Three years is a long time,” she nodded, as if answering a question. 

The strains of music mercifully filled the silence that followed. 

“Coltrane?” 

She smiled. “I have a rather large record collection, do you want to have a look?” 

Three years really _was_ a long time if Jemma had taken up record collecting, but Fitz nodded and followed her back across the hall. 

Once there, he was surprised to watch her shut the door and turn the volume up to an almost unbearable level. She turned to look at him, and suddenly, her defenses were gone. 

“Hi Fitz,” she whispered. 

“Jemma--” he gasped, stepping towards her, but she held up a cautioning hand to keep distance between them. 

“We won’t be heard now, but we could still be seen. There’s a camera hidden in the clock by the door -- amateurish, really -- but if we stand as we are they shouldn’t be able to read our lips. We just can’t be too...familiar. Act like we’re talking about music.” 

Fitz gaped at her as she picked up the record sleeve for the music that was playing. 

“Is that Coulson’s record player?” he found himself saying, at a loss for anything else. 

“Parting gift. At the time I thought it was some ill-thought-out attempt at fatherly affection, but he’s actually used it through the years to send me messages. Sometimes the record titles or songs are codes, sometimes there are letters enclosed in the slip -" Jemma caught herself rambling. "Well, it’s built up a bit, as you can see.” She ran her hand over milk crates filled with aged record sleeves. 

“You’re on a mission, then? Is that why I’m here as well?” 

“I don’t know, Fitz,” Jemma said, earnest and tired. “I haven’t heard from Coulson or anyone in months -- not that it was that often to begin with -- and there were only whispers of potential missions, nothing concrete. I suppose it’s safe to assume Coulson arranged to have you come here as well - it seems much too much of a coincidence - but I’ve heard nothing.” 

“But you’re being observed? Jemma, I have so many questions.” 

“There’ll be time for them, I promise. I search my rooms a dozen times a week and have thus far only found the one camera. I can’t remove it or they’ll know that I’m a spy and they’ll know I know - this way at least I can plant red herrings, lull them into security. Whoever they are. You should sweep your apartment as soon as you have a chance. But carefully.” 

Fitz stared at her, soaking up her presence, not caring that he couldn’t touch her. “Christ, Jemma, I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Nor I you, Fitz.” Her genuine smile after an aching hour of affectations filled his stomach with something akin to sunshine. 

“For months, I saw ghosts everywhere. I would go to the pub and think I saw Daisy across the room. I’d be buying parsnips and see May turning down an aisle--”

“Oh, you eat vegetables now?” 

“It’s part of my cover,” he grumbled. 

She laughed, and his heart swelled with the soaring music. There was a gulf for them to cross, stories he wasn’t sure she’d ever understand -- would she even understand _him_ anymore? -- but for the moment, he was standing in the same room as his best friend and nothing else mattered. 

~~

That evening, after Fitz had unpacked and they’d both spent a respectable amount of time on the phone with other people, Jemma knocked on Fitz’s door with a bowl of soup and a sandwich. 

“It seems silly now I’m standing here but I realized you might not have had time to buy groceries yet, and I was cooking anyway -- if you’re hungry --” 

“ _If_ I’m hungry -- Jemma, please. Not that much has changed.” 

Her stomach tightened. _Hasn’t it?_

They sat on the floor in the hallway, backs against the walls, facing each other with legs stretched out ahead of them. Without needing to speak it aloud, they both recognized that here, at least, though they could still be overheard, they were at some liberty to interact as they normally would. 

“So, what have you been doing for work?” Fitz asked around a mouthful of grilled cheese. 

“Really? We haven’t seen each other in three years and that’s the most pressing question you have for me.” 

“It’s a place to start!” he shot back defensively. 

Jemma played with the hem of her dress where it brushed Fitz’s leg. “I’ve been doing science writing for hospitals and research labs in the city. Couldn’t let go of the science entirely.”

“Not the same, though, is it?” 

“Not at all,” she said wistfully. “You have no idea.” 

“Oh really? I’ve had to switch over to architecture. Not to bash architecture, it’s quite complicated and there’s an artistic component to it which still eludes me but -- well, it’s not rocket science, then, is it?” 

“I suppose neither of us are where we thought we’d be when -- when we graduated university.” 

“And what else?” Fitz plowed on, clearly not yet ready to address the deeper conversations lingering at the fringes. “How do you spend your time? Or are you rapidly devolving into the cat lady we always knew you were destined to be?” He slurped cheekily at the soup. 

“Ernie has a strict no-pets policy, _Leo_.” Jemma had told Fitz she’d have to call him Leo for the time being, as it seemed more normal for former peers to greet each other this way, and she was relishing his cringe every time she said it. “Otherwise I would already be buried in ten of those fluff balls. No, actually, and this may surprise you, but I’ve got quite a bit of a life for myself here. I joined a football team--” 

“Football, or that rubbish American mockery?” 

“Do you have to ask, really?” 

“Well, that’s lovely, Jemma. Never pictured you for the type.” 

“I’ll ignore that for now. And I’ve found a nice group of friends for weekend adventures and whatnot -- I keep myself busy.” 

Fitz nodded but didn’t look up at her. She thought she knew why, and she impulsively reached out to place a hand on his knee, desperate to keep him from slipping back into the distance which shrouded every word. 

“You’ll find your way here too, Leo. It’s hard at first, coming to a new place, but we make it work. And you have me.” 

He covered her hand with his own and smiled at her, though it somehow didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s good to see you again, Simmons.” 

She flipped her hand over to squeeze his before standing up, carefully adjusting her dress as she stepped over her legs. “Good night, Leo.” 

She wanted nothing more than to hug him, to call him Fitz and grill him on every day, every detail of the past three years and to debate what finding themselves across the hall from each other might mean, after all this time -- but even if there wasn’t the press of unseen eyes and ears upon them, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to start that conversation. 

The next morning, she found her bowl and spoon washed and placed on the mat in front of her door, with a single blossom from the trumpet vine which wound up the backside of the building nestled in the scoop of the bowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This draws heavily on notes I made for a non-fandom story probably six years ago... I have thoughts for the first three chapters and then we'll see where it takes me after! This was meant to be fluffier than it's turning out to be but I'll try to bring the fluff back. This may end up going nowhere but hopefully you are down for the ride! 
> 
> No shade to architects, by the way -- my sister studies architecture and I have a lot of respect for it, but I expect Fitz would throw shade at most jobs. 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr -- I'm grapehyasynth over there as well!


	2. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons get domestic but the moment doesn't last.

When she awoke the next morning, Jemma groaned and hauled the blankets up over her head, denying the sunlight. She knew at once it had been a dream. A vivid, intoxicating dream, to be sure, but there was no reality in which Fitz would be back. She’d spent three years resigning herself to that fact, and to think otherwise was asking for heartache. 

_But just to be sure..._

She needed to grab her newspapers from the front mat anyway, and if she happened to notice whether the “vacant” sign still hung on the door handle across the way, well, it was just a reality check. 

When she saw the bowl and flower in the hallway, she could have cried. 

Jemma practically waltzed back into her apartment, sliding the newspapers and bowl onto the kitchen counter before heading back to her room. She sunk into bed with the knowledge of Fitz’s nearness sending warmth through her whole body, like dropping into a hot bath after an interminable week. She wanted to lie there forever anticipating the day to come. 

On the other side of the hall, Fitz too was still in bed, but he had been awake for hours, afraid to fall asleep for what he might lose and afraid to get up for what he might break. Yesterday had been so fragile, and he would do anything in his power to keep that from worsening. 

Eventually, his stomach began to protest and he realized that, barring a fairy godmother, no food had appeared in his fridge or cupboard overnight. He wriggled his legs for a moment before rolling out of bed with a grunt. Looking around the apartment, he thought briefly about changing into something more presentable, but he had shown up yesterday covered in day-old sweat and wearing a beanie, so there wasn’t much point in affectation. 

He hesitated at Jemma’s door. He hadn’t even checked what time it was. Would she be up? The sun had risen, of course she would be up. What if she’d left for work already? Then she wouldn’t answer, would she? “Bloody hell,” he muttered, and knocked. 

The door opened in seconds, and Jemma -- also in her pajamas, he noted with relief -- looked as if she had run there. 

“Morning!” she said too quickly, too cheerily. 

“Hi,” Fitz grinned. 

They stood in the doorway staring at each other giddily, not knowing whether they could embrace and the air charged with their wanting to do so. 

“Did I wake you?” 

“No, I was up. You?”

“I was up too. Uh - thought that was obvious.” 

“Right, I meant -- did I say good morning already?” 

Fitz scratched behind his ear. “Listen, Jemma, I feel like a dolt asking this, but I still haven’t gone to the store and-” His stomach interrupted with a rumble. “Well, yeah,” he finished guiltily, gesturing to his midsection. 

Jemma chuckled. “Come in, come in. I’ve got something here I - think - you - miiiight - like.” 

She turned from her cupboard with a box of the sugary cereal Coulson never used to let them keep in the Playground kitchen. 

“Jemma! What are you doing with this garbage?” Fitz teased. 

“Everyone has a secret sugar cupboard, Leo, don’t be ridiculous.” 

It took Fitz a moment to remember the camera in the clock, but he caught himself in time to slide around the far side of the island from Jemma rather than standing hip-to-hip with her. She noticed and grimaced apologetically. 

Once served, Fitz sprawled with one leg over the arm of a chair, ladling cereal, as Jemma leaned over the island, eating hers with a bit more restraint and reading from the newspaper. Every now and then she would break the silence with a snort and read him some segment about ridiculous politicians misunderstanding science or Americans being, well, American. The whole thing felt tantalizingly... _domestic._

For all her focus on the news, Jemma’s mind was running down a similar path. There was something incredibly seductive about Fitz’s presence -- not in a sexy, take-me-now way -- though Jemma was _not_ ruling that out -- but in the ease, the comfort, the familiarity. She would almost consider eating this crap cereal every morning if it meant Fitz would be draped over her furniture as he ate his. 

A knock on the doorframe startled them both and Fitz sloshed soymilk down his T-shirt. 

“Oh _shit_ , Zahra!” Jemma looked in horror at the woman standing in the doorframe. “Work!” she cried by way of explanation at Fitz. “I forgot about _work_!” 

“It’s okay, Jemma, I’m a few minutes early,” Zahra laughed, stepping into the room. “Besides, it looks like you’ve got company.” 

Fitz and Jemma both blushed, realizing what it must really look like. “This is F-Leo. We went to university together. Zahra’s a doctor at the hospital I’m writing for this month.” 

“Fleo?” 

“Just Leo,” Fitz grumbled. 

“He’s pretty cute,” Zahra said conspiratorially to Jemma.

“He likes to think so.”

“Do you two need a room?” Fitz joked. 

“Leo, not _every_ affectionate female friendship requires that the women involved be lesbians,” Jemma scolded, rolling her eyes at Zahra. 

“Not that I’m not. A lesbian, that is. Because I am. But Jemma, lovely as she is, isn’t really my type. Besides, I don’t know how my parents would feel about me marrying a Christian. Agnostic? Atheist?” Zahra looked at Jemma, who shrugged. “They’re still getting used to the marrying-a-woman bit.” 

“Look at his little flabbergasted face,” Jemma giggled. “You don’t have to be afraid of her, Leo.” 

“I _know_ \--” he protested. “That’s not--”

“Zahra, dear, I’ll meet you downstairs in a few. I just have to get cleaned up.” 

Fitz took that as his cue to leave as well and slipped back to his apartment after refilling his bowl of cereal. He was just draining the milk when Jemma appeared in a pantsuit. 

“You’ll be alright for today?” she asked, looking around at his still mostly bare apartment. 

“I’ll find things to do. Don’t worry about me.” 

“If you need anything--” Jemma was scribbling something onto the top of a stack of Post-Its by the door. “That’s my number. I have practice after work so I’ll be back somewhat late. Let me know if you want me to pick something up or if you get lost or --”

“Thanks, Mum, I’ll be fine.” 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh, I don’t like that at all.” 

“Tell Zahra it was lovely meeting her.” 

She laughed at him as she left. 

 

Jemma got a text from Fitz later that morning. It was just a picture of him drowning in grocery bags with the caption, _The dangers of shopping while hungry._

She sent back, _More like the dangers of shopping while Fitz._

Fewer than twenty-four hours since Fitz had moved in across from her and already a text from him sent warmth up her spine. 

She quickly lost herself in the translations -- she’d come to recognize that science was a foreign language to the people at whom her writings were aimed -- and the constant effort to keep herself from leaping up to lend suggestions to the doctors and nurses walking behind her discussing their patients. She’d found ways to covertly slip in hints from time to time, but her alleged education and experience didn’t allow her to be showing up senior surgeons. 

After work, Zahra dropped Jemma at the fields north of the city for her football practice. After a day of sitting she craved even sprint drills, and she had run several laps around the field before she became concerned by the others’ conspicuous absence. On her next loop past her bag, she pulled out her phone to find an email cancelling practice for the afternoon, due to predicted inclement weather. 

“Blast,” she whispered. She hadn’t thought to check her email before leaving the hospital. And, with impeccable timing, the first drops of rain hit her phone. 

She couldn’t call Zahra, who would already be half an hour outside the city, en route to pick up her nephews from school. As the rain broke in earnest, Jemma rifled through her wallet to see if she even had enough money for the long cab ride back to the nearest metro station. 

Then she realized what in the whirl of the day she had entirely forgotten. 

 

Fitz arrived later than she had expected, though of course he had been navigating a new city. Jemma was at this point drenched through and had given up on shielding her hair. She dove into the passenger seat as soon as Fitz flung it open from the inside. 

“Bless you, Fitz,” she sighed, shaking her head like a dog. 

“Hey, watch where you’re doing that,” he chided. Turning the heat up, he pointed to a bag at Jemma’s feet. “There should be some dry sweatpants and a sweatshirt in there, I think.” 

He phrased it as if he just happened to carry a fresh pair of warm clothes around in his car, but they both knew that he had most definitely gathered the items with care and foresight as soon as he’d gotten her call. 

He started driving as she changed. Jemma removed as many layers of her wet clothes as she could without risking making Fitz uncomfortable. As it was, she thought he was averting his eyes a little too pointedly. 

“Where did you learn to drive?” she asked, rolling up the legs of Fitz’s sweatpants. 

“California. I’ll have to learn all over again when I go to visit my mum next. Manual, right side of the road, all that.” 

Jemma hummed in sympathetic agreement. Fitz had just had the thought that maybe here, in his rapidly humidifying car, surrounded on all sides by sheets of pouring rain, they were at last alone and unwatched -- and he hated that he was already thinking in those terms, but it also felt familiar, like the old days -- when Jemma shivered violently and he suggested they stop at a cafe. 

They both ordered tea, and Fitz ordered a chocolate croissant ostensibly for himself, though they both knew Jemma would eat half. 

“Do you miss the others? From uni, I mean.” 

Jemma took a shuddering breath before she turned from the window to meet his gaze. He’d clearly been thinking about it all day, waiting to ask her. It was amazing that they could still feel this way, even after all this time. “Every day,” she sighed. “I keep -- oh, this is silly, but I keep thinking about how Da - how Skyler brought me flowers after my... leave of absence in our last year. She and I just didn’t see enough of each other at the end. When we ... graduated, there were relationships I still hadn’t fixed. Things I never said.” 

“Sometimes I really wish I had Professors...er, Colin and Maine around, just to ask for advice.” 

Jemma smiled at their feeble attempt to disguise what they were really talking about. “I saw... Alfred once, you know,” she said tentatively, unsure whether to share this, knowing how much Mack had meant to Fitz. “Colin’s usually the one who sets up meetings with me but Alfred came once.” 

Fitz blinked quickly and looked away. 

“He looked good. He was safe.” That was all she could offer. “It must almost be time for a reunion, come to think of it-” 

“I don’t know how you did it, Jemma,” he broke in, roughly, bitterly. “Built this new life. I never quite got the hang of it. What we had, what we gave up, it’s in everything I do. But you! You seem to be doing wonderfully, Jemma. You’ve got Zahra and a whole gaggle of fascinating, accomplished people to be with now. I don’t see where I fit in, quite frankly.” 

“You don’t think this is a transition for me too, Leo?” Jemma hissed, leaning across the table towards him. “I don’t know if you can imagine, but as happy as I am to see you, what exactly does your being here mean for me? Is this it? Is this life, this peaceful, exquisitely boring life, over? Do we have to go back? Do I even _want_ to?” 

He sat back abruptly, arms crossed over his chest, nodding. “I get it.” 

Her hands flew to her face in horror. Everything she’d been trying not to let herself think for the last day had spilled out in exactly the wrong way. “Leo, _no_ -” More than anything she wanted just to be able to call him Fitz. 

But the damage was done. On the car ride home, Jemma chattered about her latest article, hoping to bridge the gulf through science, simultaneously not sure she had anything for which to apologize but knowing something had gone terribly wrong. Fitz drove in stony silence, and his apartment door closed on her face before she could wish him goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My decision to make Jemma play soccer is entirely gratuitous because I want her to like the things I like. I don't think it's entirely out of the realm of possibility. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on Tumblr -- I'm grapehyasynth over there as well!


	3. Drastic Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jemma takes drastic action and FitzSimmons take a field trip to iron things out.

In the days that followed, Fitz avoided Jemma with alarming efficiency. He dodged her calls. He seemed to time his movements in the halls and the laundry room to the opening and closing of her door. She slipped notes under his door, everything from paragraphs begging him for a chance to explain to printouts of cartoon monkeys on which she added annotations critiquing the accuracy of the drawings. Nothing drew a response. 

She wanted to impose reconciliation. She wanted to violate his space, to take away his right to secede from the situation, but wasn’t sure whether they had that privilege with each other anymore. 

At the very least, Fitz had begun his job at an architectural firm downtown, as she learned from Mrs. Huang, one half of a couple who lived on the floor above Jemma. Mrs. Huang reported having a lovely conversation with “that Scottish charmer” in the laundry room. _Glad to hear he can still be pleasant to someone._ The part of Jemma that cared more about Fitz’s well-being than anything else - was that part distinct from the rest of her? - was grateful that he had projects again. 

A full week passed. The Indian summer faded into an abruptly chilly and foggy fall. Jemma returned to her life and routines as if there had been no interruption. But an ache was ever-present now, an ache like she’d carried when first separated from the team, made somehow worse by the knowledge that he was sleeping meters away and she couldn’t reach him. When she wasn’t careful, Jemma would catch herself wishing he had never come back. She didn’t know whether that was true or not. 

By Friday morning, though, she’d had just about enough of spilling tea and burning rice while lost in thought. Even the houseplants were looking droopy from lack of attention. 

She decided to take drastic action. 

Seconds after she’d sent the text, Fitz burst through her door, bright red. 

“ _What_ \- the - _hell_ , Jemma -” 

“Hello to you too,” she said coolly. 

“‘ _If you don’t come talk to me I will send you naked pictures of myself_ ’?” he read in a high voice off of his phone. 

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” 

“First-and I can’t believe I’m asking this-” He pressed two fingers to the line in his forehead. “ _Why_ do you have naked pictures of yourself?” 

“I don’t _have_ them--”

“So you were going to _take_ some to send to me?” 

“Is that what you want?” 

“ _What?_ Stop - stop distracting me, Jemma. Isn’t that nonconsensual, a violation?”

“Yes,” Jemma conceded steadily. “You’re absolutely right. I apologize, truly, if I made you uncomfortable. And for the record I never would have done it without your consent.” _Why did I add that qualifier??_ “But you’re being ridiculous and I’m done with your stubbornness.” 

“Shocking as this may be, Jemma, I don’t want to talk to you very much at the moment. And you made it abundantly clear that I could sod off at any time and you wouldn’t care less-” 

“I said nothing of the sort, and you know that, and if you’ll come with me and let me explain, I think you’ll understand.” 

“Come with you?” Fitz made a concerted effort to slow his breath, his color returning to normal. “Where?” 

“Let me show you. Please,” she added in a whisper, straining to convey every ounce of earnestness she felt through just her eyes. Their friendship had always worked with her dictating the terms, but she needed Fitz to make the decision this time. 

Fitz’s head dropped back slightly and he put his hands on his lower back, a gesture which she’d seen enacted by dozens of people over the last three years without any of the heartache it gave her now. At long last, he nodded. 

 

As it was a Friday and most people were not skipping work to resolve their interpersonal issues, the botanical gardens were deserted except for a scattering of older women and meandering college students. Jemma bought tickets for them both; the man at the entrance greeted her by name. 

“Come here often?” Fitz asked as he followed her across the expansive, domed lobby. 

“I used to. When I first moved here, anytime I was missing the team to the point of paralysis, I would come here to deal with it.” 

Fitz looked at her, surprised by her honesty. “Oh.” 

She nodded, eyes straight ahead. Maybe someday she would tell him that it was mostly when she was missing him, and in the permanent exhibit there was a cinnamon tree under which she would sit on a bench and scratch a line into the arm to mark every time she sat there, breathing in the heady scent from the tree to try to fill her lungs with something other than the absence of Fitz. 

They had enough ground to cover for now. That could wait. 

 

Jemma clearly had a specific destination in mind, but she took her time leading them through the exhibits, pointing plants out to Fitz as they went. 

“Joshua trees only grow about an inch and a half every year,” she explained as they passed through the desert exhibit. “So this one’s probably been here--”

“At least forty years,” Fitz estimated with a quick appraisal. “It’s huge.”

“The hoary skullcap--”

“The what?” Fitz laughed.

“ _Scutellaria incana_ , if you must. Anyway, it’s remarkably resilient.” 

“That little purple one? It looks so fragile.” 

“You’d never expect it, would you? And it has numerous medicinal purposes. I hope to make tea out of it someday.” 

They passed into a new room and a wave of fragrance hit Fitz right away. 

“This is my favorite exhibit,” Jemma said over her shoulder. “There are over 27,000 species of orchids in the world. That one -- the deep red -- is called Renanthera, or colloquially Red Dragon. It’s only supposed to bloom in spring, but that’s the beauty of conservatories. It can grow to be taller than a person. A normal-sized person, that is - it wouldn’t be difficult for a plant to be taller than either of us, would it.”

Fitz stared at the back of her head, wishing he could see her face, knowing exactly the expression that would be there. He used to compete with himself to provoke that same face, her star-gazing face, her dissection face. If there were other people in the room with them he didn’t know and didn’t care. 

“Those are called cycnoches. They’re not very pleasant to look at but they have the ability to force pollen upon their pollinators -- isn’t that fascinating?” 

“Talk about nonconsensual,” Fitz muttered. 

“But this is why I brought you here,” Jemma said, stopping in the middle of a swatch of giant lilac, star-shaped flowers. “Vanda orchids. My favorite. And also, you’ll be interested to learn, a space in which the acoustics of the room combined with the sound-dampening features of the plant life make it impossible for us to be overheard unless someone is standing right next to us.” 

“Does it really?” Fitz looked around, intrigued despite himself. 

“Coulson and I actually had meetings here upon occasion. I came here often enough already and it was rather ideal.” 

Fitz leaned back against the brick wall lining the path, bringing his defenses back up. “What did you want to talk about, Jemma?” 

“I have three major points, and I hope you’ll hear me out, Fitz,” Jemma began, then sighed. “God, it feels good to say your name.” 

Fitz had to agree. His name had become something she’d only say in private, and when she said it now it felt so secret and sacred. He felt a flush creeping up his neck and quickly wiped his palms on his trouser legs. 

“First. Do we or do we not think that Coulson sent you here for an impending mission?” 

“The likelihood that I just happened to move into the apartment across the hall from you is slim-”

“I agree. But seeing as how neither of us has been contacted and there are no indications that anything nefarious is happening in our vicinity, there’s not much point to extrapolating scenarios, correct?” 

Fitz nodded begrudgingly. 

“Good. So we can’t change that or do anything to deal with it at the moment. So I propose we don’t even consider that as a factor for now. Holding that as true, our second major question is, Can you begin a life here that intersects with mine but acknowledges what I have already established? The answer to which is of course you can, and you’re mad if you disagree. Honestly, for most people this is normal. We only ever really had each other, but most people, when they make new friends or begin dating someone or... whatever, they have to adapt to sharing. They have to fit into other people’s circles and timelines and learn to do things on their own, but they also find new ways to exist together. There will be times I want to go out with Zahra or Jessica or Henry--”

“Henry?”

“...And it will not be because I don’t want to spend time with you, but because spending time apart every now and then, having different interests, will make it better when we’re together.” 

“We never used to need time apart,” Fitz grumbled petulantly. “We always found things to talk about.” 

“Which brings me to my third question. Do I want you here, Fitz?” There she went with his name again. Though this time he was too distracted by what she’d say next to linger on that for long. “The answer, again, is of course. I have this life I have worked so hard to build, and I built it out of unbelievable loneliness and confusion, and I want to fit you into it, not abandon it entirely. Think about how you felt at the Academy, how long you held on to calling your mum every day because it felt like a betrayal to enjoy yourself there. You were miserable and homesick right up until you weren’t, and then it hurt to call your mum because it reminded you that you were growing and getting used to the place and moving on. It was the same for me here. I held on to the team for as long as I could but to survive I needed to set down roots. That doesn't disappear just because you show up. But whatever the circumstances, there is no universe in which you are not my best friend and in which I don’t want you here.” 

“That’s statistically impossible --”

“Shut up, Fitz.”

“Yeah, right.” 

“It’s not --” Here for the first time Jemma seemed to lose her confidence, and she took a quick breath before continuing, “It’s not just the prospect of going back to active SHIELD duty which makes me nervous. You seem the same as ever, Fitz, and that’s wonderful, but I feel like there are things which have happened, things which have fundamentally changed me, that I’ll never be able to convey to you.” 

“Right. I get it.” 

“But I want to try,” Jemma whispered, stepping up to Fitz and taking one of his hands. 

This was an emotional openness he’d never seen from her, and he squeezed her hand, afraid to say anything that might stop her. 

“Like, for example,” she began, clearly steeling herself, “I see a therapist now. I have been taking anxiety medication for well over two years now.” 

Fitz sank blindly onto the bench next to them, pressing his palms into his eyes.

“Fitz?” 

“Sorry, that’s -- uh, this is obviously not the reaction you were going, for, I just--” He looked up at her, eyes glassy. “Jemma, when I left SHIELD, I didn’t eat for a week. My neighbors filed a complaint because I used up all the hot water taking hour-long showers, so I just... stopped showering. I got fired from three jobs in as many weeks because I just felt paralyzed, but at the same time I was drifting and couldn’t grab onto anything --” His voice shook and he looked away. “My mum came to visit me about six months after we all separated. She stayed with me longer than she could probably afford, helped me get back on my feet. Ever since then, any time I find myself slipping into that darkness again, I suddenly get a job offer in a new city and all these reasons crop up that force me to go. I think Coulson hopes I’ll stay too busy to become depressed.” 

“Oh, _Fitz_.” Jemma stepped forward to press his face against her stomach, one arm wrapping around his neck while the other carded through his hair. Fitz wrapped a hand around her calf and focused on that contact rather than how close his face was to... other areas. “He does know depression doesn’t work like that, doesn’t he? _Doesn’t he?_ ” she repeated worriedly. 

They stayed like that for a few moments as a string of teens walked through. At last, Fitz moved his head back reluctantly, scrubbing his eyes. “I thought there was something wrong with me. I mean, I know it’s a thing that happens to people, but...” 

“It’s hard not to feel weak compared to May and Daisy and everyone,” Jemma agreed. 

“I’m sorry for feeling relieved that you’ve been through something similar - that was entirely the wrong reaction to have.” 

“It’s not,” she smiled. “I feel the same way. But you know that just because we have each other again doesn’t mean these things will go away.” 

“I still feel better having you to share them with,” Fitz mumbled, dropping his hand from where it still held onto Jemma’s leg. She stepped back, seeming to realize for the first time how close they were. 

“Fitz?” 

Something in her voice made him look up nervously. She was looking down at him coyly and one hand played with the curls behind his ear. 

“There was one last thing I wanted to mention. I know I said that because of the surveillance it was probably best if we kept our distance--”

“As I recall, you used the word _familiar_ -”

“But if, hypothetically, two friends from university saw each other after several years and began to spend more time together, it wouldn’t be abnormal for them to become... _familiar_ , would it?” 

“Jemma Simmons,” Fitz teased, though his insides were flip-flopping all over the place. “Are you propositioning me?” 

“Not right away,” she rushed to clarify, removing her hand from Fitz’s head. He thought about chasing it with his own hand but held back. “I’d like some time to just...be us, to get to know each other again -- while still living our own lives, as I said -- but _that_ , that hasn’t changed for me in three years. If you still want to-”

Fitz stood and walked away down the path. When he turned back, Jemma looked terrified until he presented her with a deep purple orchid. 

“ _Fitz_ , you can’t --” 

“To familiarity.” 

“You just violated the unspoken contract of this conservatory--” But she was smiling, despite herself, moving forward to meet him and taking the orchid in the cradle of her palms. 

“I’ll make a healthy donation. Lunch?” He was already walking towards the exit and she had to run to catch up with him, seamlessly slipping her hand into his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this Conservatory, and all plant facts, came from the Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens in Pittsburgh, which I have visited once and enjoyed greatly! (https://phipps.conservatory.org/visit-and-explore/explore/plant-collections/) Wish I could have conveyed the feel of being there more, but there were plot points to be handled. Ummm so probably two chapters of pure fluff/stuff ahead?? Might have to put more plot back in at some point but let's just ride the happy feels as long as possible. 
> 
> Also, I didn't mean to overshadow Jemma's anxiety with Fitz's depression, but in this verse she's steeled herself to talk about it and he's been hiding it so she wasn't going to discuss it any further. Hope that makes sense! 
> 
> I'm also hoping to write Chuck and Mr. & Mrs. Smith AUs once this one gets wrapped up... But trying not to think that far ahead yet!


	4. Picnics, Paint, and Hand Grenades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons engage in excessive fluff before receiving a menacing visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these are coming out so short! I'm always just brimming with the ideas and want to put them out as quickly as possible... Hope you don't get tired of that. ;)

Over the next week, when they weren’t at work or, in Jemma’s case, football practice, Fitz and Jemma spent every possible moment tumbling their lives into each other, coexisting in a way they hadn’t since the Academy. It was tentative at first, shy and probing, but with each day their thoughts and movements began to function in tandem once more. 

When the weather was unseasonably nice, they packed picnics -- well, Jemma did most of the actual food preparation, though Fitz did provide an excellent assortment of snacks -- which they ate along train tracks or by the river. Fitz brimmed with excitement as he explained the mechanics of the trains and ships they watched. He’d grown up in a rural area and even after serving with S.H.I.E.L.D. and personally designing components of their vehicles, he still thrilled at what he called “the wonders humanity can achieve when physics is understood and respected.” During this particular soliloquy he had a dab of mayo at the corner of his mouth, severely undermining Jemma’s ability to take him seriously. Not having the heart to tell him, though, she just took another bite of her sandwich and listened to him shout over the rattle of a passing train. 

Science became a touchstone for their friendship again. Though their fields no longer overlapped and they both still bemoaned the loss of their lab -- and neither party would acknowledge the blush that “their lab” and its accompanying experiences solicited -- they ended many evenings sitting at Jemma’s kitchen island, heads bent over an article which was giving Jemma trouble. It was not uncommon for Jemma to cross the hall and find Fitz frozen in place, toothbrush motionless in his mouth as he drew building designs in the air, but rather than blushing he would explain his ideas and ask for her thoughts. 

They took another day off of work, feeling like rebels. Jemma looked up movie times in the newspaper and together they selected all the films that sounded abysmal, then went to the early matinees and sat in the empty theater with their feet up, talking loudly and critiquing the science and gender politics and throwing popcorn at the screen. 

Jemma refused to violate the time she reserved for her weekly laundry and apartment cleaning, and as much as she appreciated his offer to help she had “a system”, so Fitz settled on her couch with Jemma’s iPod. Vacuuming took twice as long as it normally would, as the October afternoon sunlight seemed determined to spotlight Fitz, with his eyes closed -- “I’m not sleeping!” he made sure to declare loudly several times -- and his hands laid over his chest, one knee bent and the other lolling over the edge of the couch. Once she heard him humming to whatever song was playing. They’d been quite well-behaved all week, only reasonably physically affectionate, but it would be so easy to surprise him with a hand through his hair, or to throw all caution to the wind and just lay down right on top of him, nestling her chin against his shoulder blade, pressing her lips against his neck-- 

Jemma finished her chores feeling distinctly overheated. 

After Friday’s football practice, Jemma and her teammates showered and changed in the practice field’s locker rooms before heading to a bar, their end-of-week tradition. They ordered greasy food and cocktails or beer and had a chance to bond in the way that makes disparate athletes into a united team, or at least so went the volunteer coach’s theory. This week, there was an abundance of ribbing at Jemma’s expense. Zahra, who didn’t play on the team but was its honorary social chair, had been quite forthcoming about Jemma’s new old friend -- the adjectives got a little tricky -- and the gossip forbidden from practice was focused solely on her. 

She held up well to the spotlight, answering their teasing questions as vaguely and cheekily as possible without selling herself or Fitz (to them, Leo) short. Eventually, though not losing interest, her team could see she wouldn’t be sharing anything more for the time being. It was only once they were thoroughly distracted by onion rings and mozzarella sticks -- the diet of true athletes -- that Zahra cornered her. 

“Real talk, though, Jemma, and I’m asking because I care. Aren’t you worried you’re over committing with Leo? Losing yourself? You two spend a ridiculous amount of time together.” 

Jemma chewed slowly while she thought. She could easily have dodged the question, but she appreciated Zahra’s intentions and valued their friendship enough to want to include her on this.

“There was a time when I would have worried about that. But Leo and I, we’re just not like other people.” 

Zahra sighed. “Girl, I’ve heard that before--”

“I know how it sounds, but I swear to you, neither of us is like this with anyone else. We just -- He was there during my formative years. We grew together, side by side but also literally intertwined in so many ways.” Jemma surprised herself at how easily this came out, a reflection of how much thought she’d been giving it. “Being with Leo isn’t giving up my autonomy, it’s... expanding myself. He’s always been my -- second half isn’t quite right, as we’re both wholes, but it’s like I’ve had this phantom limb -- phantom person? -- for three years and now... He can be infuriating, I concede, but there is no _end_ to Fitz and me. We’ve been many things, but with one exception, we’ve never not been friends. We misunderstand each other sometimes but we never stop caring.” 

Zahra was staring at her and Jemma brought her hands up to her face. “Oh, I can’t imagine what you must think of me!”

“Shit,” Zahra breathed at last. “Just... shit, girl. You got it bad.” 

 

Jemma entered Fitz’s apartment after just a perfunctory knock. She dropped her purse and her gym bag by the door and walked towards him, smelling like beer and salt and _why was he blushing for no apparent reason_. 

“You’ve got yourself into quite a mess, haven’t you?” she teased. 

He’d decided to jump on a spate of dry weather to repaint a living room wall which had been bothering him since he moved in. A couple hours of beers and blasting radio later, half the wall was still a sickly yellow, with the other shining under a fresh coat of light teal. 

“How’s it look?” he asked proudly.

“The wall looks great. You, on the other hand...” 

Fitz looked down at his raggedy Star Trek T-shirt. “What?” 

“You’ve got it all over your face,” she laughed, reaching out to swipe at a dried patch on his cheek. He touched it reflexively in the wake of her fingers. 

“Can’t help if I’m such an artist that I get too absorbed in my work--” 

“Painting a flat stretch of plaster a different color is hardly art --” 

“Clearly you’ve never been to the Tate Modern.” 

“You _hated_ the Tate, you told me!” 

“Yeah, well.... Want to help?” 

He gave her another of his old T-shirts, not realizing until she’d pulled it on that with it being untucked and Jemma being several inches shorter than Fitz, it would hang all the way past the hem of her short floral skirt and brush her thighs. Suddenly she was standing in his living room looking like she was wearing nothing but his shirt. 

“Right!” he said a little too loudly, turning away from her. “Roller or brush?” 

She contemplated for a moment. “Which one is easiest to operate while also drinking a beer?” 

“Excellent question, Simmons. I like the way you think. I would say... roller.” He presented it to her with a slight bow as if offering a rose. 

If anything, they made slower progress together than Fitz had done alone, what with competitively repainting each other’s sections to perfect the patterning and Jemma’s insistence when good songs came on the radio that they both use their beer bottles as mics and sing along. 

 

By the time the wall had a relatively even covering, Fitz was sufficiently tipsy and Jemma was now also covered in paint, mostly where Fitz had “slipped” and hit her with his brush. Exhausted, they found their way to the couch. Jemma slid down in one seat with her feet on the coffee table and Fitz tumbled over the opposite arm to crawl the length of the couch and lay his head on her leg. 

“How can you be such a lightweight?” Jemma teased. 

“Slow metabolism,” Fitz mumbled, throwing a hand up as if to swat at her before letting it fall above his head on the armrest. “‘S not my fault I don’t exercise. Or is that one of the variables that I _can_ control?” 

He sighed, turning his head so his nose brushed her -- his -- shirt. “You smell like Felix Felicis.” 

She should have told him that that wasn’t how it worked -- they had a “Friends don’t let friends misrepresent Harry Potter” pact -- but her heart was too full. 

She stayed awake long after his small snores ruffled across her stomach, running her thumb over the smooth, thin skin on Fitz’s overturned wrist. 

 

When she woke up, groggy and one cheek ridged from pressing into the couch’s pattern, her first glance took in her bare legs and the T-shirt -- Fitz’s T-shirt -- just covering her. Her hands flew to her mouth. _Did we -- We couldn’t have --_ She had just remembered why she was wearing it and that she had other clothes underneath when she recognized what had woken her: an incessant, violent pounding at the front door. 

Fitz was dashing around the apartment, opening drawers and lifting up cushions. “ _Shite_ \-- Oh good, you’re awake. We have company.” He slammed into the coffee table in his haste to reach her and groaned, rubbing his shins. “You have to go.” 

“Wha--” 

He grabbed her wrist and hauled her carefully but unceremoniously up off the couch. “You'll have to go down the fire escape from the bathroom window.” 

“Has your posse of lovers finally come to tar and feather you?” she teased, though he was standing quite close behind her and his hands were now at her waist to guide her towards the bathroom and she was finding it hard to concentrate on the matter at hand. 

“I wish,” Fitz said, then sighed when Jemma snorted. “You know what I mean --” 

“Fitz, what is it?” In her haste she forgot to call him Leo, but at this point would anyone notice? She turned in the bathroom to face him so that his hands slid to her upper arms. 

“I don’t know who they are, or what they want, but there’s a gaggle of alarmingly muscular and most definitely armed men outside my door.” 

“Gaggle doesn’t make them sound very menacing, does it? Right, sorry. What are we going to do about it?” 

“We? No, Jemma, for whatever reason they came to my apartment, so I’ll deal with them. You -- just -- get down the fire escape and go find help, or--”

“Maybe they came to your apartment because they’ve already ransacked mine and found it empty. I’m not leaving, Fitz.” 

“Jemma--” He attempted to push her to the window again.

She stepped back purposefully into the bathtub and crossed her arms. “Together or not at all, Fitz. I go, you go. You stay, I stay.” 

He looked back to the front door frantically, then released an agitated breath. “Okay, you’re mad, but okay. Just -- take that shirt off, would you, you don’t look very menacing yourself.” 

“Do you happen to have any weapons?” Jemma asked as she shimmied the shirt up and off and tossed it to Fitz, who looked like he’d just caught a garter. 

“That’s what I was looking for, but I seem to have left my AK-47 at the cleaners.” 

“All I’ve got in my apartment is pepper spray and a few hand grenades.” 

He stared at her. 

“I might be kidding about the grenades. Let’s not keep our guests waiting!” 

And she pushed past him, shaking her head at how much like old times it was beginning to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr -- I'm grapehyasynth there as well!


	5. A No-Rough-Stuff-Type Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons engage in shenanigans... of multiple sorts. ;)

“Told you we should’ve gone down the fire escape,” Fitz muttered to Jemma. 

They were both seated on his couch, maintaining a careful professional distance between them. Fitz could see Jemma evaluating each of the gargantuan men around them, assessing their weapons and muscles and propensity for distraction. Even in the way she sat perched on the edge of the cushion, turned slightly towards him, he could imagine her making a break for the bathroom and its access to the fire escape. The time away from S.H.I.E.L.D. had made her relaxed, but it certainly hadn’t made her soft. 

He shifted towards her, the cushions dipping between them. “Jemma, don’t,” he whispered. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Leo.” 

“You’ll get us both killed.” 

“Enough chit-chat,” one of the men growled, nudging them apart with his unnecessarily large gun. They both moved away from it as quickly as possible. 

The apparent leader of the group turned back from the window. “Understood, sir. We’ll be in touch.” He hung up the phone call which had occupied him for the last few minutes. As far as Fitz could ascertain, whatever was going on had been carefully compartmentalized. No single person involved in the operation knew all the details. The men who had shown up at his apartment had been tasked only with securing Fitzsimmons and calling the phone number at that time. 

The leader -- Fitz had mentally dubbed him Mr. Neckbeard -- swaggered back towards them. Fitz didn’t like the way he was eyeing them. 

“Alright, kids. Playtime is over. Where’s Phil Coulson?” 

Fitz looked at Jemma quickly. She had tilted her head but was still focused on Neckbeard. 

“Sorry, who?” she asked innocently. 

“You can stop playing dumb, our benefactors have known for weeks that you’re S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“I’m sorry, but are you dropping your articles? Did you mean to say that we’re _*a*_ shield? One of those silly board things knights used to carry about? Leo, do you have any idea what they’re talking about?” 

“Frankly, Jemma, I’ve been trying to imagine in what scenario they could have mistaken two specimens such as ourselves for inanimate objects -- most shields are either made of wood or, in modern times, Mylar, though of course Captain America’s shield has been made of everything from a bulletproof alloy to adamantium to -- there’s one I’m forgetting --” 

“Still, I know we’re not the liveliest of people but I hardly thought we could be mistaken for wooden--” 

“Shut up,” Neckbeard yelled, grabbing Fitz by the collar and holding a pistol to Fitz’s temple. Fitz squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to watch Jemma’s face go as deathly white as he’d seen it once before. “You two are worse than they told me you’d be. Do you ever stop talking nonsense?” 

“Bet if we knocked one of them off the other’d spill real quick,” one of Neckbeard’s henchman suggested with a snarling grin. 

“You hurt either one of us and you can just sod off for all the help we’ll be,” Fitz said with much more bravery than he felt. 

“Fitz--” 

“I see how it is,” Neckbeard laughed, releasing Fitz. “The little lady is suddenly eager to start sharing.” 

“The little lady will kick you where it counts if you don’t show us both a bit of respect.” 

All of the men laughed, but Jemma didn’t look deterred. She stared death at Neckbeard while reaching out sideways to grab Fitz’s hand. 

“Well, now that we’ve got your attention, why don’t you tell us how to get to your base.” Neckbeard stood in front of Jemma, thumbs hooked in his belt. 

“We’re not S.H.I.E.L.D.--” Fitz tried again. 

“We used to be,” Jemma cut him off, and he flinched. 

“Jem-” 

“We haven’t been a part of S.H.I.E.L.D. for over three years. I haven’t seen Director Coulson in months. I wouldn’t have the first idea where to find him.” 

“You’re gonna want to start making some calls, lady. The people paying us, they want something, and they seem to think Phil Coulson is the man to get it for them.” 

“Yeah, what’s that?” 

“That third thing you couldn’t remember, what old Stevey Rogers’s shield was made of? Vibranium. That’s actually exactly what we need. Seems the black market supply has been running a little dry. And unless you happen to have some lying around, you’re gonna need to get some for us.” 

“Vibranium, lest you've forgotten, is from Wakanda. That’s an ocean away, plus you’d have to cross Africa at its widest point. How do you expect us to be able to do something you couldn’t? Do you have a jet to lend us?” 

“Like I said, you’re going to want to get in touch with Mr. Coulson. You’ve got a week.” Neckbeard patted Jemma’s knee -- she flinched at the touch -- and motioned to his men. “Roll out, fellas.” 

“How are we supposed to contact you?” Fitz called over his shoulder. 

“You won’t. Don’t want to leave that kind of a trail. We’ll be back, don’t worry. And if you don’t have something to show us, well -- hope you’re not too fond of your fingers and tongues.” 

They sat in shock for several minutes after the men’s callous laughter was out of earshot. Fitz finally shook himself, stood, and shut the door to the apartment. Leaning against, he looked at the back of Jemma’s head. 

“Fuck.” 

“You can say that again,” she whispered. 

“F-”

“Fitz.” 

“Sorry.” 

Fitz took down the clock on his wall and pulled out the hidden camera, which he’d found wedged there to match the one surveying Jemma’s every move in her own apartment. He set it on the table by the door and smashed it with the clock. “Guess there’s no point pretending for that anymore.” 

“What are we going to do?” She twisted on the couch to look at him. She looked shaken, to be sure, but more than anything tired. 

Fitz pushed away from the door and moved to kneel behind the couch. He crossed his arm over the back and rested his chin on his hands, looking at Jemma. Their faces were just inches apart. 

“I’m sorry this is happening, Jemma.” He looked down, memorizing the pattern on her skirt. “I can’t help thinking that if I didn’t show up -- You were so happy here, I can’t remember you being so peaceful since -- well, maybe ever. And I come back and suddenly everything’s gone to hell and you’re in danger again--” 

“You were the one with the gun to your head.” 

“Yeah, well, next time it could be you. Shite, that’s not what I meant to say, Jemma.” 

“I know.” She turned around away from him, and he stretched one hand out to play with her hair. She leaned back into his touch. “I don’t blame you, Fitz. I think this would have happened whether you came or not.” 

_Agree to disagree_. “How do you normally get in touch with Coulson?” 

“I don’t! He’s always initiated contact.” 

“Okay, plan B. Jemma, you’re not gonna like this, but I have an idea. I think we should steal some vibranium.” 

Jemma snorted. “Okay, Fitz.” 

“I’m serious!” He tugged on a strand of hair. “Think about it. Yes, vibranium comes from Wakanda, but there must be a refinery somewhere in the States. Something controlled by the government or a former S.H.I.E.L.D. facility now used by the ATCU, disguised as a smelting factory or something -” 

“You actually want to help those goons? What’s to say they wouldn’t kill us anyway?” 

“We won’t be stealing the vibranium for them.” 

Here Fitz threw in a dramatic pause, waiting for her to turn. He wanted to see her expression. 

At last she humored him. When she turned, she’d obviously just finished rolling her eyes. “Then why _would_ we be stealing the vibranium, Fitz?” she asked, barely containing exasperation. 

“What better way to get Coulson’s attention than lifting one of the rarest, most valued, and most politically charged metals in the world?” 

The effect was worth it. Jemma blinked, staring at him, then a slow smile spread across her face as she understood. 

“Fitz, that’s brilliant!” 

“Again with the tone of surprise.” 

“I mean, we’d be likely to attract unwanted attention from other parties, but surely Coulson would get to us first?” 

“It’s worth a shot. And if he doesn’t turn up, well, we give those men the vibranium.” 

Jemma’s face fell. “Fitz, you’ve overlooked one crucial point. We may be S.H.I.E.L.D. but we’re hardly field agents. Neither of us has the expertise or stealth to plan and undertake a factory heist.” 

“I’ve thought that through too.” Fitz stood and came around to sit on the edge of the armchair that was catty-corner from Jemma’s place on the couch. “There’s this episode of _Breaking Bad_ -”

“Fitz! You watched _Breaking Bad_ without me?” Jemma cried, with genuine hurt in her voice. “We were saving that one to watch together.”

“It’d been three years, Jemma, I was in constant danger of having the whole thing spoiled for me anyways. You’d’ve done the same, right?” 

“I never started _Game of Thrones_ because I knew that was next on our list,” Jemma said quietly. 

“Oh.” Fitz looked away for a second, then nudged her leg with his foot. “Hey, you wouldn’t like that one anyway. Too much nudity for a prude like you.” 

“You watched _Game of Thrones_ too? Oh, _Fitz_!” Jemma rolled over onto her side and buried her face in a pillow. 

“Hey, hey, I’ll rewatch it with you,” Fitz offered as soothingly as he could as he scrambled to sit next to her, pulling her up by her arms. “I’m at last a season behind, anyway, so it won’t take you long to catch up.” 

She glared daggers at him, though the effect was mitigated somewhat by the tears hanging on her eyelashes. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?” Fitz laughed. “Of all the things to go off about--” 

“It’s fine,” she said harshly, rubbing at her eyes. “It’s just still a sore spot, I guess.” 

“We’ll get there, Jem.” He pulled her into his chest, rubbing a hand up and down her back. God, it was freeing to not have to care about those damned cameras anymore. 

“So can you tell me about this _Breaking Bad_ plan of yours without spoiling the whole show for me? You know how I hate spoilers,” Jemma said, her voice muffled against his chest. 

 

 

They undertook the operation two nights later. Through some skillful hacking -- they’d both picked up a trick or two from Daisy back in the day -- they tracked down a vibranium refinery just outside of the city. “Odd, really,” Jemma had said as she analyzed the ATCU chatter they’d been sifting through. “If it’s that close, you’d think whoever’s paying those men would have found it by now too.” 

“They don’t know what to look for,” Fitz had reminded her. “The material used in these places to refract vibranium’s effects and make it undetectable from the outside of the building was refined by yours truly. You’d have to know what other signs to look for in the ATCU’s memos, and only someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. would be able to do that.” 

Which was how they found themselves dressed in all black outside a refinery in the middle of the night. Fitz had parked his car at the edge of the fence, which they cut through in seconds. 

The heist itself was so uneventful Fitz was actually disappointed. Clearly the refinery’s owners thought they had everyone fooled and did not expect anyone to steal the vibranium, as there was only one guard on duty. Fitz had tried to convince Jemma to lock the guard in a portable toilet just as Walter White and Jesse Pinkman had done, but she’d refused and instead snuck up on the guard and injected him with a strong sedative she’d stolen from the hospital and doctored to increase the rapidity and longevity of its effects. 

“Won’t it look suspicious when they come in tomorrow morning and find him out cold?” 

“It’ll look suspicious enough when half their vibranium is missing.” 

“Right. In that case, shouldn’t we inject him with another dose, just to be sure?” They’d brought enough solution to knock out ten guards, anticipating the worst. 

“That could send him into a coma. It might not, but I’d have to study the modified drug for longer and I’m just not comfortable making him our first human trial.” 

Having wasted enough time already, they broke into the storeroom of the refinery -- a blacklight revealed the fingerprints of the last person to code in -- and crammed their backpacks full of the tiny boxes of vibranium. 

“Lucky it’s powerful enough that they distribute it in such small amounts,” Fitz huffed, nearly dropping a box. 

“Lucky we don’t have to open these boxes, really,” Jemma replied. The boxes were padlocked and secured with combination locks likely wired to explode if the wrong numbers were entered. 

“Yeah, that’s Coulson’s problem.” They both laughed. 

It was only as they were making their getaway that things went slightly wrong. They had mapped the location ahead of time, but the door through which they chose to exit, though unmarked, was clearly not meant to be opened from this side. A screeching alarm went off as Jemma pushed it open. 

“Shite, they’ll notify the ATCU in the city,” Fitz yelled, pushing her through. “Run, Jemma!” 

They sprinted for the fence, wriggled under, and fell over themselves getting into the car. Fitz threw his backpack onto the backseat and started the car, reversing so quickly that dirt flew from under the wheels. Neither of them bothered with seatbelts. 

They were back on the highway in minutes, both still panting, adrenaline coursing. Fitz pulled his ski mask off and tossed it onto her lap. 

“That was--”

“Incredible, I can’t believe--”

“We actually did that, Jemma!” 

“I know!” 

Fitz laughed, rolling down his window to feel the wind. 

“Fitz!” 

He hummed in response but didn’t look at her. 

“ _Fitz_ ,” she said again, her voice strange, and he looked up as he felt her fingers running lightly over the back of his right hand where it lay on his thigh. Her eyes were very dark. “Pull over, Fitz.” 

“Wha- You okay, Jemma?” He moved the car off the road as soon as a parking lot appeared. “What happened? Was I driving too fast? I just thought--” 

The next second she had launched herself at him over the center console. Her hands found his jaw a blink before their lips collided, hard and hot and slightly painfully, and suddenly they were kissing like they were trying to make up for the years they’d lost. She bit his bottom lip and he moaned against her mouth and wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her flush against him as best as he could with the awkward angle of the seat. Her hands slid down to his shoulders, thumbs pressing into his neck as her lips moved along the stubble on his cheeks and found his ear. 

“Jemma,” he gasped. 

In his eagerness to draw her closer, his hands slid to her bum but in the process pressed against the horn on the steering wheel. The car emitted an indignant squawk and they broke apart, Jemma hitting her head against the ceiling as she flew back from him. 

“Christ,” Fitz said, and they both laughed, Jemma dropping her head to his shoulder. He placed his hands safely on her hips. 

“Sorry, Fitz, that’s not how I planned for that to go.” 

“What, were you planning to jump my bones, then?” He pulled back from her to grin at her cheekily. 

“I had some ideas,” she said vaguely. 

“Wouldn’t want to ruin your plans, then.” He hoped desperately she’d say _Fuck it_ and throw the plans out the window. 

“We also wouldn’t want to get caught by the ATCU. We should keep driving.” She clambered off of him and back into her own seat, this time buckling her seatbelt. 

He sighed and dropped his head back against the headrest. “Right you are.” 

“Hey Fitz?” 

He turned to look at her and she caught his lips in a soft, gentle kiss. 

“That’s it,” she murmured. “That’s all I wanted to say.” 

He drove them the rest of the way home with a loopy smile on his face, one hand linked with Jemma’s. 

 

Somehow they both went to work the next morning, despite getting only a few hours of sleep and both being quite stressed by the knowledge of the vibranium stashed throughout their apartments - under sinks, in closets, behind curtains. Fitz expected the ATCU to come sweeping into his office at any moment. 

But the day passed without event. Until, that is, he reached their floor in the apartment building and heard music coming from Jemma’s apartment. She almost never made it home before him. 

He knocked on her doorframe and looked in to see her at the stove. She beamed at him, and his eyes traveled down the length of her. 

“Do you have a hot date?” he asked, depositing his briefcase next to the door and shutting it behind him. 

“Jemma Simmons Seduction 101. Smooth jazz, a smart but comfortable outfit, and all his favorite foods.” 

“Seduction, hmm?” He leaned against the counter next to her. “Must be quite a guy.” 

“I like him well enough,” she replied breezily but with an obvious blush. 

“That smells amazing, Jem.” 

“Here, try a bit.” She held out a spoonful of steaming tomato sauce, one hand underneath it to catch the drips. “I experimented with the herbs a bit.” 

He took the spoon into his mouth without breaking eye contact with her, and now they were both blushing. She turned quickly away from him, but he snuck one finger through the belt loop nearest him and pulled her towards him. 

“No!” she said shrilly, slapping his hand. “Food first. _That_... later.” 

“At least it’s part of the plan,” Fitz grinned. 

She looked down at him, the light above the stove backlighting her perfectly curled hair and one lip pulled between her teeth, and she was grinning and blushing and looking so terrified and excited and Fitz knew that they were standing on this precipice together, again, three years after they’d almost crossed this line, and it was time. They were ready. 

 

Fitz woke the next morning in Jemma’s bed, snuggled up against her back, all their limbs intertwined. The light through the curtains suggested it was well past ten -- he was shocked she hadn’t gotten up already -- was it a work day? Did it matter? Every inch of his body was suffused in a bone-deep warmth, his heart split between constricting and soaring, and he nuzzled his face into Jemma’s shoulder, never wanting to let go.

“Hey, you,” she whispered without turning. 

“Morning,” he breathed back. 

“Can we stay like this forever, Fitz? ” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

Fitz had just started dropping back to sleep when there was a noise from the other side of the room, a mix of a cough and a snort. Fitz shrieked and they jumped apart, both scrambling to pull the sheets up to their chins. 

Standing in the doorway, looking quite smug about something, was Daisy Johnson. “Well, this certainly wasn’t what I was expecting. I mean, I'd hoped, but...” she said with a devilish grin. “Did you guys miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skipping the smut.... I've never written that before and definitely can not do that justice. If anyone wants to write that bit themselves and post it as a companion piece I would be happy to share this 'verse with you! ;)
> 
> If you haven't seen _Breaking Bad_ , the stuff referenced here will in no way spoil it. 
> 
> Also yes, I made everything about vibranium up off what was available on Wikipedia. Don't judge it too harshly. :P
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! I'm grapehyasynth there as well.


	6. Old Faces, New Faces

Daisy turned her back while they dressed. Jemma had been looking forward to a lazy morning walking around in Fitz’s button-up and felt a significant surge of disappointment on having to pull on her own jeans and top. Fitz must have been thinking something similar, though, because with a furtive glance at Daisy, he pulled Jemma towards him and into a kiss with just a light touch on her hip. Jemma brought her hands up to his jaw, allowing him to tip her back ever so slightly as he deepened the kiss. 

“Okay, I can hear you guys making out, I’m turning around,” Daisy called out. “What were you doing that makes that much noise anyway?” She rocked cheekily back on her heels, clearly loving every minute of this. 

They stepped apart and both crossed their arms as they looked at her. 

“So how long has this been going on?” she wheedled. “Tell me everything!” 

“Don’t you have something to tell us?” Jemma asked coolly. 

“Jeez, most people feel all fluffy and warm after coupling with their soulmates. Unless it was bad?” She pretended to wince. “So sorry, guys, shouldn’t have mentioned it. Is this the one area of your relationship where you don’t match up?” 

“It wasn’t _bad_ , it was bloody brilliant!” Fitz said indignantly at the same time that Jemma snorted, “That you could even _fathom_ our coital activities being anything less than extraordinary-” 

They looked at each other, then away, smiling and blushing. 

“There we go, that’s what I was looking for,” Daisy cooed, clasping her hands before her. “You guys are so precious -- not what we expected when we heard there’d been a heist of the eastern seaboard’s largest stock of Vibranium, but hey, times change. Anything you want to confess to before I have to take you in for questioning and potential retribution?”

“What?” they both spluttered. 

“Kidding, gosh. We figured out pretty quickly it was you, and why you did it. Spy agency, remember?” 

“Spy agency- _ish_ ,” Fitz corrected. 

“Don’t say that around Coulson, he’s still sore about that.” 

“It’s been three years,” Jemma said. 

“Yeah, well, the guy can hold a grudge. Which is why we don’t want to be late to our meeting with him -- you guys ready to go?” 

“Can we shower quickly? I mean, not, shower _together_ , necessarily, just, we both smell a little, because--” Jemma waved a hand between her and Fitz, a deep blush rising again along her neck and cheekbones. 

“I get it, don’t want Dad to know you’ve been having sex. Good call. Be ready in half an hour. I’ll call Coulson and let him know. My car’s out front, meet me there?” 

“Daisy!” Jemma called after her, and Daisy popped her head back around the doorframe. Jemma ran forward and threw her arms around Daisy’s middle, squeezing her tightly. “It really is good to see you. I’ve missed you terribly. We both have.” 

Daisy stroked Jemma’s hair and looked at Fitz over her head. “Careful, Fitz, or I’m gonna have to steal your girl.” 

“Don’t joke about that,” Fitz said, completely serious. 

Daisy and Jemma laughed, and Jemma moved back far enough to look Daisy in the face. “You don’t look a minute older.” 

“Been on a diet of whiskey and cookie dough, so I have no idea how I’m not dead already,” Daisy grinned. “Budget’s still a little tight at S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“You should try steady employment. We’re both finding it surprisingly tolerable,” Fitz offered. 

“Wow, your sales pitch - swing and a miss, my friend.” 

“Don’t mix your baseball metaphors,” Jemma whispered while Fitz said, “How I am both the pitcher and the batter in this situation? And god, when did I learn the rules of baseball? Jemma, we’ve been in this country too long...” 

Daisy’s eyes looked almost teary as she finally extricated herself from Jemma’s grip. “God, I’ve missed you guys. We have so much to catch up on. But you’re right, you do still smell like you’ve been riding each other all night long, which is _not_ the mental image I want for you two - it’s like picturing your sister getting it on with the boy next door.” 

“You think of me as a sister?” Jemma gasped. 

“Go shower!” Daisy laughed, ducking back into the hallway. 

And, well, if they did shower together, it was more efficient anyway and Daisy never had to know. 

 

Their rendezvous point with Coulson was in an unremarkable office complex in a rundown section of the city. Jemma and Fitz both chuckled when they saw the sign on the entrance to the room Coulson had rented. 

“Orthopedic surgeon,” Jemma explained when Daisy looked at them. “Hand doctor?” 

“I knew that,” Daisy said defensively. “Nerds.” 

Coulson was deep in conversation with a stately black man in an all-navy suit. They both looked up as the trio entered. 

“Fitzsimmons!” Coulson exclaimed, moving towards them with surprising eagerness. He shook each of their hands, then said, “Oh, damn the protocol,” and hugged them at the same time, one arm around each of their shoulders. 

“Good to see you too, sir,” Fitz said upon their release. 

“It’s certainly been too long. Welcome back.” 

“Er-” Fitz said. 

“We weren’t aware this was to be our formal reintegration to S.H.I.E.L.D., sir,” Jemma said tentatively. “There are a lot of loose ends.” 

“Indeed there are. For the time being, you’ll hold your cover. We’ve identified the intended buyers and the attempted sellers for the Vibranium you stole, so we’re tracking down all of their connections to figure out how far knowledge of your S.H.I.E.L.D. affiliation extends. Regardless, it could be good to have you out in the open. Draw some of our weaker enemies out.” 

“Use us as bait?” Fitz said nervously.

“If it helps, I offered to take your place,” Daisy informed them, leaning around Jemma from where she’d been observing. 

“We’ll restore your cover as much as possible. But with S.H.I.E.L.D. still operating in a largely decentralized manner, with minimal resources-”

“I told them,” Daisy interrupted. 

“Not the whiskey and cookie dough again? Daisy, people are going to think we don’t take care of you. She exaggerates,” he said to Fitz and Jemma. “It’s not quite that bad. Close, but not quite.” 

“So we would stay in these lives we’ve created until called upon by S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Fitz clarified. 

“Yes, for the foreseeable future, that seems appropriate. Unless you’re ready to return?”

Jemma looked up at Fitz and saw her own feelings mirrored there. More than anything else she was relieved. She hadn’t been ready to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. and had been afraid they might be pushed to decide between the relative comfort and peace and all the connections they’d built in this city and their old life with the agency. Coulson was offering them an opportunity to straddle both worlds. 

“I think we’d like to stay,” Jemma said firmly. “Preferably with more visits from you and Daisy and May and the others.” 

Daisy hugged her from behind. 

“That can be arranged,” Coulson said, with the barest hint of a smile. “And now - I’ve been terribly rude, I haven’t introduced our guest!” He turned and waved for the man to come forward. “This is T’Challa, king of -” 

“Wakanda!” Jemma gasped. “You’re a _legend_! I mean, obviously, you’re clearly more than a legend, but we devoted a whole month at the Academy to learning about the contributions you and your forebears have made to understandings of strength, stamina, and healing through plants and artifacts alike!” 

“And he’s got a degree from Oxford in physics, don’t forget that!” Fitz jumped in as Jemma stopped for breath. “One of the ten smartest men on the planet-”

“He’s eighth, and that includes women,” Jemma corrected. 

“I was just excited you’re the Black Panther,” Daisy said directly to T’Challa. 

“He’s Leo Fitz, I’m Jemma Simmons,” Jemma blurted out, shaking T’Challa’s hand excitedly. “Oh I’m sorry, am I even allowed to shake your hand? I’ve never met royalty before.” 

“It seems your introduction is unnecessary, Phil,” T’Challa laughed. “Your compliments are much appreciated, Agent Simmons, Agent Fitz.” 

“Why am I even here? You all can run this mission without me,” Coulson said, throwing his hands up and retreating behind the desk, where he sat down and put his feet up.

T’Challa turned back to Fitz and Jemma with another warm smile. “Thank you for making sure the Vibranium is in good hands. Lesser agents than you would have taken the opportunity for compensation-”

“No, we were just saving our own necks-” Fitz clarified, but Jemma elbowed him and he fell quiet. 

“Regardless, with your assistance, we will be able to entrap those responsible for this attempted theft and prevent similar circumstances in the future. Once that is complete, I will be returning the Vibranium to Wakanda.” 

“Really?” Fitz and Jemma said together. 

“We had a long-standing agreement with S.H.I.E.L.D. for the sharing of the resource, as necessary for protection of our planet as a whole, but the ATCU, which was operating that refinery, was in no way authorized to be doing so. What’s more, they’ve proven they do not understand Vibranium’s importance or danger. Vibranium belongs to Wakanda, and we reserve the right to distribute only to those we trust.” 

“Absolutely,” Fitz murmured. 

“Your extraction practices are commendable, by the way,” Jemma chimed in. “I’ve always admired how you run that process, so I trust your judgment in this as well.” 

T’Challa and Coulson both smiled at this tiny biochemist boldly asserting her approval. 

“As a fellow scientist, your agreement is a comfort,” T’Challa replied. Jemma blushed. 

“Alright, I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving,” Coulson said, swinging his legs to the ground and grabbing a set of keys off the desk. “Lola’s out back. I’m taking you all to lunch.” 

Jemma hesitated, blocking the two men as she did so. 

“For someone who kicks that much ass and has that much power, he’s super nice,” Jemma heard Daisy remark to Fitz as they wandered out. “Pretty hot, too.” 

“Almost definitely married,” Fitz warned. 

“Sir?” Jemma asked quietly once Daisy and Fitz had disappeared. “Or really, both sirs. I have a favor to ask.” They both just looked at her. “Well, this is even more awkward than I anticipated.”

“Go ahead, Jemma,” Coulson prompted. “Short of a coup or alien body enhancements, there’s not much you can ask that would surprise or offend us.”

“I was wondering, actually, and I realize now this is quite an imposition, if I might... keep one of the boxes of Vibranium.” 

T’Challa and Coulson shared a look. 

“Are you planning to experiment with it, test its properties?” T’Challa asked. 

“No, of course not! I know that there are procedures for that and you’d obviously want to approve anything before it went through - I feel silly asking, only-” 

“What do you need Vibranium for, Jemma? Any weapons or gear you want, S.H.I.E.L.D. will get for you. Heck, Fitz could make them himself.” 

“It’s just - oh, bloody hell,” Jemma sighed, and then said very quickly, “I’m just aware that some day, in the future, I don’t know when, and maybe this is presumptuous, but there’s a chance Agent Fitz and I might want to get married, and we’re both avid environmentalists and we’d never want diamonds or gold because who knows where they come from or how they were extracted or who is really benefitting from them, and I just thought it would be so _lovely_ to be able to offer Fitz this material he could use to make a set of rings that are really original and unique and something that’s so representative of S.H.I.E.L.D. and also can’t be destroyed because, well, that’s really nice symbolism going into a life-long partnership, don’t you think?” 

In the silence that followed her rambling speech, Coulson and T’Challa stared at her with open mouths. Coulson had an expression she’d never seen before, and if his resolve weren’t infamous, she would think he was about to cry. 

A slow smile spread across T’Challa’s face. “So you and the little lion man are -? I thought as much but didn’t want to presume. As to whether you may keep some Vibranium-” He glanced at Coulson. 

“It’s your call to make, Your Highness. Though I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that I trust Agents Fitz and Simmons with my life and know that they would never do anything with the Vibranium except what they say they will do.” 

“Then it’s settled,” T’Challa said, clasping Jemma’s hands in his own. “A gift from a friend, for a happy union.” 

“T’Challa just called me a friend,” Jemma said breathlessly. 

“I have to admit, I’m jealous,” Coulson said wryly. “I would give anything for some Vibranium from Black Panther himself.” 

“There should be more than enough within the box I will leave with Agent Simmons for you to craft something for yourself, Phil,” T’Challa said thoughtfully. “You could even have Agent Fitz incorporate it into your next hand design, finally make it indestructible.” 

Coulson looked like he was going to faint. 

Daisy and Fitz were still standing on the sidewalk next to Lola, debating who would win in a fight between Black Panther and Black Widow. (They were actually both arguing the same side but were running through the potential outcomes as a mental exercise, Fitz later explained.) He greeted her with a quick peck on the lips. “Everything alright?” 

“Just shop talk,” Jemma replied fondly, tugging his collar. 

“Think he’ll sign my shoe?” Fitz said, looking back to where T’Challa was walking with Coulson towards the car. 

“Think he’ll sign my back? That’d make a sick tattoo,” Daisy contemplated. 

“Think he’d sign Lola?” Coulson cut in as they reached the younger agents. “I’m kidding, not even Black Panther gets that privilege.” He patted the hood of the car. 

Jemma rode to the diner wedged in the middle of the backseat between Daisy and Fitz, holding hands with both of them, heart fluttering in a state of pure bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to end it here, both as a release for myself and because I want to leave these kids in a good place. I imagine them working kind of freelance for a while until SHIELD gets back on its feet and then feeling more ready to make a decision about going or staying. And they'd see a lot more of Daisy, Coulson, Mack, and May than in the previous three years -- family picnics are a must. 
> 
> Also I know exactly as much about Black Panther as was available on Wikipedia and as what I've gleaned from various Civil War-related materials and interviews with Ta-Nehisi Coates so apologies if this seems really offbase with who he is in the comic books or other materials!! 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr - I'm grapehyasynth over there as well!


End file.
